


Worse Things

by akitsuko



Series: A Series of Incredible Tropes [3]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drugs, Dubious Consent, Enemies, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fuck Or Die, Kidnapping, M/M, Rough Sex, Sex Pollen, Spit As Lube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:28:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27497221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akitsuko/pseuds/akitsuko
Summary: And he looks back just in time to see something small and powdery get pushed through the grate and hit Edward squarely in the face.Oswald and Edward are imprisoned together, when an inhibition-lowering drug forces them to get some of their grievances out in the open.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Series: A Series of Incredible Tropes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2001790
Comments: 18
Kudos: 55





	Worse Things

**Author's Note:**

> #3 - Fuck or Die
> 
> I went down the 'sex pollen' route with this one, and it's set at some point during the time when Os and Ed are enemies. Please be warned, it deviates a long way from my usual style - it's not very happy, my boys suffer, and there is some very dubious consent.

The first things that Oswald notices when he wakes up are the throbbing pain in the back of his skull and the incessant ringing in his ears. He screws his eyes shut tightly, and attempts to roll over. Only then does he also realise that he's not in his bed at all, but on a cold, concrete floor, and he's still fully dressed. 

This can't be anything good. 

His last memories come back to him in drabs. He was… yes, he was on his way from the Lounge to the bank. And then, what? Oh, out of nowhere, something had been put over his head. A bag of some sort. And he'd gone to twist the concealed knife out of the top of his cane, prepared to start yelling at the top of his lungs, when… ah, right. When something heavy and solid had connected with the back of his head. 

He groans, a combination of pain, frustration and rage. As he lies there on the floor, he takes stock of himself. Now that he remembers the blow, the agony in his head intensifies. His leg has been done no favours either; it's stiff, aching, and probably swollen. He's freezing cold, and incredibly uncomfortable.

He peels his eyes open. His left eye doesn't open far, feeling as though his lashes are stuck to each other. Could be dried blood, dribbled down from his head wound, crusting them together. His vision isn't as clear as he would like, either. Perhaps he's acquired a concussion. 

With great effort, he pushes himself up onto weak arms, and blinks his eyes a few times before getting a better look at his surroundings. A room or, more accurately, a cell. The walls are identical to the floor, and it's shaped like a circle. It's dimly lit from a single bulb, which hangs from the centre of the ceiling. It's dank, chilly, and not particularly clean. It smells of old moisture, and he can see a steel door, which he knows immediately will be locked and incredibly difficult to break out of. There are no other windows or openings. 

He grits his teeth, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his skull, as he furiously tries to think who could be responsible for this. Unfortunately, his list of enemies is rather long. 

Top of the suspects is that despicable woman, Barbara Kean, and her awful partner, Tabitha. There's also that great oaf, Butch; it certainly wouldn't be the first time he'd betrayed Oswald. He can't disregard the possibility that it could be any of the lunatics roaming Gotham who ought to be in Arkham either, like Tetch or Crane. 

There's even every chance that Jim Gordon is behind this. 

He turns, to check that the room is as blandly identical on the other side, and almost jumps out of his skin when he sees Edward sitting there, leaning back against the wall, legs pulled up and his arms wrapped around his knees. He's watching Oswald, with a mildly amused look on his face. 

Of course. Of course it's him. No one else in the world hates him so much. 

He almost falls over himself in a hurried attempt to scramble back and put further distance between them. 

Edward only scoffs. "Oh, relax. I have nothing to do with this. I woke up around an hour ago, and I have no more knowledge of why we're here than you do."

Oswald doesn't trust him any further than he can throw him, but a part of him can see that Edward certainly hasn't chosen to be here either. As he looks at him, he observes that there's a crack in his glasses, some bruising around his right eye, and a bloody wound at his temple. 

It seems they've been kidnapped and imprisoned here by the same perpetrator. Oswald can only wonder what their mystery jailer is hoping to gain from this, because they will end up bitterly disappointed. 

He pauses and assesses the situation. He's trapped in a relatively small room with a man who tried to kill him and technically succeeded, at least for a couple of minutes. There's nothing to suggest that he won't try again, especially given this prime opportunity. He's in pain, but he can still function, and that's what matters. 

The options available to him are few, and he doesn't hold out hope for any results, but he can't just sit here and do nothing like Edward is apparently content to. 

He pushes himself to stand, ignoring Edward for the moment, and staggers as the sudden movement makes his head swim. But he shakes it off and limps over to the door, powering through the shooting pains in his leg that are actually worse than he had anticipated. 

"Hey!" he screams, pounding his fist against the steel. "What is the meaning of this? Let me out! I demand to know who's behind this! And let me tell you, you will live to regret your mistake! I am the king of Gotham, and I will tear you limb from limb and feed you to the scum of the Narrows!" 

"You really think that throwing a tantrum at a door will achieve anything?" Edward sounds exasperated. 

Oswald turns to fix him with a stony glare. "I don't see you conducting an elaborate escape."

Edward sneers back at him from his place on the floor. He really does look awful, now that Oswald gets a proper look at him. He's scruffy and unkempt, and in desperate need of a haircut. His green suit has threads coming loose. His access to hot water is probably sporadic. 

"Someone has to come back at some point," he replies. "Otherwise, this is a pointless kidnapping. There's nothing we can do until that happens, so I'm happy to conserve my energy and strategise in the meantime."

"Not all of us are happy to do nothing," Oswald bites back, but he knows that Edward has a point. He takes a breath, and comes away from the door, deciding to sit on the floor against the part of the wall directly opposite from Edward. He doesn't like the thought that he might not see him make any subtle moves. He grimaces as he eases himself down, stretching his leg out in front of him and giving it a rub below the knee. 

He's already feeling the deprivation of his cane. He needs to practice walking without it more often, before he gets too dependent on it. 

He looks up at Edward again, and deliberately adopts a scathing tone so that he doesn't mistake his next words for concern. "You've seen better days."

But Edward deliberately misunderstands, and grins at him with an exaggerated salaciousness. "It's nice to know you still care."

"I don't." Oswald looks away, returning his focus to massaging his leg. 

"Who do you think you're kidding?" He hears Edward chuckle darkly. "You always were transparent."

Oswald refuses to give him the satisfaction of a bitter retort. 

As much as he hates himself for it, he does still harbour the feelings that destroyed his friendship with Edward in the first place. He's done his best to bury them beneath layers of denial and fury and hurt, but he's never managed to successfully eradicate them. 

It hasn't mattered what Edward has done to him. Tricking him, betraying him, shooting him, making fun of him in that ridiculous show he ran. Nothing has made him care any less. He knows, deep down, that he would still die for Edward, and it makes him feel utterly pathetic. He can bitch and snark until he's blue in the face, but it won't change the truth. 

And Edward can use it against him while he remains completely defenceless. 

Well, perhaps not completely, and certainly not when it comes to anybody else. But it's true that Edward makes him weak. He loves him and he fears him. He'd never known that it could be possible to feel such opposing emotions at the same time. 

Somehow, Edward manages to see right through him. He's lucky that he's not stupid, otherwise Edward would have bested him a long time ago. 

He longs, still, for those old days when he was open with his affection, when Edward was kind to him and genuinely cared, and it hurts to know that they will never have that sort of relationship again. It will be a miracle if they can ever move past their current animosity and spite. 

"You haven't been doing your exercises." Edward's voice breaks through his thoughts. 

"What?" 

Edward nods to where he's still rubbing at his leg. "I can tell."

Making a strong effort to keep his face neutral, Oswald replies, "So? What difference does it make to you?" 

Edward doesn't respond, and Oswald is happy to let them lapse into silence. It's neither comfortable nor awkward, it's just that they don't have a great deal to say to each other these days. 

They sit in their respective spots for some time. No one comes to the door. In fact, there is no evidence of life outside this room at all. There's no way to tell what the time is, or whether it's even day or night. Oswald wasn't carrying a watch, and a pat down of his pockets has revealed that his phone has been taken from him. He can't even guess, because he has no idea how long he was unconscious for. 

Oswald feels his backside start to go numb, and he fidgets. The chill from the floor is starting to seep into his bones, making all his aches worse. The pain in his head isn't improving either. He reaches up to feel at it, and finds that the tender, blood-crusty area is larger than he had thought it would be. It's going to be hell to heal. 

"Edward-" 

"Don't call me that."

Oswald rolls his eyes. "Why can't we just put this fight behind us?" 

"Because you killed the woman I loved!" Edward raises his voice, finally losing a little of his composure. His voice is so full of hate. 

"Oh, please!" Oswald spits. "You'd only just met her."

"It had absolutely nothing to do with you! She was perfect, a second chance for me to have a relatively normal life, and you took that away from me just because you couldn't have me all to yourself!" 

"You know what, Ed? If you want to keep rehashing this, then  _ fine.  _ Didn't you ever consider that Little Miss Perfect was just a smidge  _ too _ perfect? Identical to your dead ex, and introduced herself with a riddle?" 

"That's what fate is, Oswald!"

Edward likes to think he's impenetrable, but he's more expressive than he realises. He's not even close to over what happened to Isabelle, and his hurt is spilling out over his face. Although Oswald doesn't regret getting rid of that vile woman, he does regret that he's the cause of this pain for Edward. It kills him to know that he's the one who has given Edward so much cause for grief.

Still, now that he's started this, he can't seem to make himself stop talking. 

"You only saw what you wanted to see, you idiot. It wasn't fate, it was a set-up. The timing alone was suspicious. Someone wanted to put a rift between us."

"The only thing that put a rift between us, Oswald, was your selfishness."

"I'm sorry that I hurt you!" he yells. "And yes, at the time, I acted in my own interests rather than yours. I wish I could go back and do things differently, but I can't. What I will not do is apologise for removing her from your life. She wasn't  _ real _ , Ed, and you were too blinded by 'love' to see it. You know I was right about what I said at the time, too; you would have ended up killing her yourself, and it would have torn you apart. I couldn't let you do that to yourself!"

Edward leans his head back against the wall.

"Learning about your betrayal destroyed me," he says. "I trusted you. And I could not believe you would do that to me."

Oswald opens his mouth to respond, but he's interrupted when there's a rattling outside the door. Their conversation instantly paused, he and Edward are on their feet in record time; while Edward hangs back, Oswald decisively approaches the door, fire in his veins. 

"Finally!" he declares, as a small grate at the top of the door is pushed open. No one opens the door, and no one speaks, and Oswald's temper is hanging on a knife edge. 

"Oswald," Edward says, "come away from the door."

"Absolutely not," he barks. "There's nothing I want more than to get my hands around the neck of whoever-" 

Then a lot of things seem to happen at once. There's movement on the other side of the open grate. Edward's hands fist in the back of his jacket and he's forcibly shoved away from the door. And he looks back just in time to see something small and powdery get pushed through the grate and hit Edward squarely in the face. 

The grate closes. 

Edward is coughing, his head surrounded by a dusty cloud. By his feet is the tiny parcel, looking like little more than a powder-covered sponge. He's waving his hands in front of him in an attempt to waft the substance away from his face. 

Oswald takes a cautious step towards him. "Edward, what-" 

"No!" Edward interrupts, holding out a hand to keep him at bay. "Stay away from me."

Oswald frowns but complies. "What is that?" 

"I don't know." Edward coughs some more as the cloud around him dissipates, tiny traces of it settling on his clothes and hair. He brushes himself off. "But let's try to avoid both of us breathing it in. As usual, as much as it irks me, we have a better chance of getting out of this if we cooperate. That chance diminishes significantly if we're both compromised."

Compromised. Guilt gnaws away at Oswald. While the petty side of him delights that Edward is the one at risk, he doesn't enjoy knowing that it's his fault. If he had moved back when Edward told him to… 

An old memory of a similar time comes into his mind. 

_ "Oswald, move!"  _

_ He didn't move, paralysed in place, and Butch's hands latched around Edward's neck.  _

He banishes the memory to the abyss of long gone moments, where it belongs. 

Edward picks up the little sponge to examine it more closely. He swipes a finger over it, and rubs the powdery residue between his fingertips. 

"There's nothing distinguishing about this. I'm pretty sure it's not cocaine, but other than that, it's difficult to come to any conclusions."

Oswald sighs. "That's just great. First we're kidnapped, and now we're being poisoned."

"You always leap to the worst possible conclusion."

"Forgive my wariness regarding mystery powders!" he sneers. "Unless you have any better ideas, I'm going to stay as far away from you as possible."

Edward smirks. "Oh, believe me, I have no problem with that."

Oswald stalks back to his place against the wall, sliding back down to the floor whilst keeping an eye on Edward and his movements. 

He's worried. Nothing good ever came of being exposed to an unknown substance by an unknown enemy. For all he knows, Edward could start foaming at the mouth at any moment, and that won't spell great things for him either. 

"I really am sorry," he says quietly. This could be his only chance now to even try to heal some of their old wounds. 

Edward says nothing in reply, not right away. He returns to his original place on the floor, focusing intently on the sponge that he's still holding. He twists and turns it between his fingers, gives it a sniff, rolls it around his palm. 

Oswald has almost forgotten that he said anything at all when Edward's voice breaks the silence. 

"You're a truly terrible person. I've never wanted to hurt someone so badly."

He says it with conviction, although his voice is weak, betraying a deeper meaning below the surface of those words. He might hate Oswald, but Oswald knows and, more importantly, understands him. His masochistic sense of curiosity prompts him to probe further. 

"You ruined my life, broke my heart, then shot me and dumped me in the river. There's not much more you can do to me."

It's a challenge, and he's certain that Edward will take the bait. 

He's right. 

"I can't allow you to get away with what you did! Whatever it takes, I will make you suffer."

Oswald shakes his head, exasperated. Edward is starting to sound like a broken record. "You know what your problem is? You are obsessed with me."

At that, Edward's head snaps up, a dangerous glare on his face. "I do not love you."

"If you're trying to hurt my feelings, I'm afraid that's old news!" Oswald yells. "Do you really think I didn't get the message the first time you told me that? I'm saying that no matter how you feel about me, you are incapable of letting me go. You need me. I told you that before, and it's truer now than it ever was then."

"You're wrong!" Edward is yelling too. "I thought I needed you once, but I'm so much better now that I'm without you."

Oswald raises a sarcastic eyebrow. "Yes, it really looks that way."

Edward clenches his fists and ducks his head while he takes a breath. There's sweat shining on his forehead when he looks back up. "You're wrong," he repeats. He wipes the sweat from his head and takes another deep breath, this one sounding a bit more laboured. 

Oswald's desire to get under his skin is gradually replaced with concern. It looks like the powder is starting to take its effect. He abandons his effort to win their argument and allows Edward to have the last word for now. 

He watches as Edward shuffles, pinches the bridge of his nose, scrubs his palms over his face. "It's working on you, isn't it?" 

After another heavy breath, Edward says, "It's got really hot in here."

"No. It hasn't."

"This is… shit, it must be the powder. I'm not feeling so good."

Oswald tries not to let on how alarming it is to hear an expletive come out of Edward's mouth. He sits, keeping his distance, and watches as Edward struggles out of his jacket. It looks like his coordination is also being affected. 

"Talk me through what's happening," he suggests. "We might be able to think of a way to negate its effects."

Edward huffs out a deprecating laugh. "I would have thought you would enjoy watching me go through this."

"Oh, yes. Under different circumstances, I would savour it," Oswald agrees. "Right now, however, my priority is getting out of here. And we do have a better chance of that if we work together, which will be impossible if I allow you to become incapacitated. So I suggest that you forget your grudge against me for a few minutes, and shift your priorities."

Edward groans. He sounds like he's becoming quite uncomfortable. Oswald softens his voice. 

"How do you feel?" 

"Too hot," Edward answers. "Constricted. I think the powder is affecting my ability to think rationally. And it might be affecting my impulse control, too."

Oswald tenses. That would be bad news for him. He could end up dead. "Really?" 

Edward tears his tie loose and undoes a few buttons on his shirt. He's still squirming, and looking increasingly unhappy. "This is coming over me very quickly. Oh lord, I need… I need…" 

Oswald isn't looking at him. He doesn't want to be accused of ogling him in his weakening state. "What do you need?" 

He dares a glance, and meets Edward's glazed eyes. Then Edward pushes himself forward, onto his hands and knees, and he starts to crawl across the floor. "You were right," he gasps, keeping his gaze fixed. "I need you."

"Excuse me?" Oswald squawks, blindsided by the sudden change in Edward's attitude and automatically pulling himself into a more defensive position as Edward advances on him. 

"I can't hold back," Edward says. "I do need you, Oswald. I want you. I want to touch you."

There's nowhere for Oswald to retreat. All he can do is wait for Edward to reach him. And when Edward is there, placing his hands on Oswald's knees, Oswald does the first thing he can think of, and fires out a kick with his good leg right to the middle of Edward's chest. Edward, clearly not expecting such a response, falls back in a heap. 

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Oswald screams; anger is the only defence mechanism he knows. 

"What's happening to me?" Edward asks, even as he gets back up and moves back into Oswald's space. He looks almost afraid. "I'm not supposed to want you. I've tried  _ so hard _ not to want you."

It's taking every ounce of Oswald's control to hold him at bay. "Edward, think about what you're saying," he pleads. "This isn't you. This is whatever you've been drugged with."

"I can't explain it," Edward continues, apparently not hearing Oswald at all. The powder really is working quickly, and that's worrying.

"I can. This is a drug. You have to fight it."

"No, I can't. Not anymore. I don't want to." Edward returns his hands to Oswald's knees, rubbing his thumbs in small circles. "Don't you want me, Os?" 

Oswald snatches him by the wrists. "Goddamn it, Edward, listen to me.  _ This is not you _ ."

"But it is," Edward argues. He's still trying to wriggle his way closer. His pupils are dilated so far that his eyes look completely black. "I never told you. I was so confused after what you did, but I couldn't stop. I wanted you even when I hated you."

Against his better judgement, Oswald wonders how much truth there is in those words and how much of it is just the substance talking. A dangerous rabbit hole to fall into. Especially while Edward is looking at him like he wants to eat him alive, and won't stop trying to get into his lap. Oswald can't quite believe that he's trying to fight him off; he must have more willpower than he thought. Or perhaps he's just so hopelessly in love that he'll do everything he can to avoid taking advantage of him in this state. 

It wouldn't be real. It wouldn't be the experience he's dreamt of during so many long, lonely nights. 

He doesn't want to do that to Edward, or to himself. It might kill him. 

Maybe being in love has made him a better person. 

Unfortunately, there's nowhere for him to go, nowhere for him to escape from Edward's advances. And he can't deny that a part of him is terribly pleased with Edward's interest. It makes for a very difficult internal conflict, and he wishes he could just run. 

He'd said that there wasn't a lot that Edward could do now to hurt him, but this will qualify. And, with Edward getting more handsy by the second, doing something they will both later regret seems almost inevitable. 

"You don't want me," he says, although the words choke him. "You just think you do. If you think you hate me now, that's nothing compared to how you'll feel if I let you do this."

Edward moans, a wanton and frustrated sound. "Stop it. Stop pushing me away. Please, Oswald…" 

He manages to situate himself so that he's straddling Oswald's shin, and he shamelessly grinds his hips down. 

Oswald's breath hitches and his eyes widen as he feels Edward's erection against him. It's rock hard, almost impossibly so; surely another effect of the drug. 

Through his stupor, he finds himself grateful that he has escaped being dosed with the powder. If they were both affected, he can only imagine that they would be tearing each other apart by now, and unable even to look each other in the eye again later for the shame of it. 

As it is, he's not sure how much longer he can fend Edward off. He can only hope that some of his words get through to him. 

"You'll regret this. Please hear me. You'll never forgive me."

Edward shifts again and, in a quick movement, grabs Oswald's hand and presses it against his dick. He groans lewdly at the contact, while Oswald freezes, swallowing. Then he opens his eyes, and though his voice is husky, he looks momentarily lucid. 

"Help me," he asks. "I'm begging you."

Under normal circumstances, Edward would never beg him for anything. 

"Alright. Jesus, alright." He curls his fingers, increasing the pressure against Edward's cock, and Edward almost collapses with a loud keen. 

Permission thus given, Edward barely gives him a chance to breathe. He's tearing at his own clothes, at Oswald's clothes, latching his mouth onto any inch of skin revealed, rutting like a dog against whichever part of Oswald is closest to him. 

The feeling of Edward wanting him, genuine or not, is overwhelming. Oswald is carried along by Edward's passion, more a recipient than a participant. He allows Edward's clawing hands to explore his skin, allowing himself to pretend for a moment that his feelings are finally being reciprocated, that he's being touched with love rather than pure physical need. 

It hurts more than he expects it to. 

Edward's lust only seems to increase. His whole body is covered in a sheen of sweat, a stark reminder of the influence he's under. Oswald reaches for him, taking hold of his cock and stroking him with far more confidence than he feels, spurred on by the desperate noises he's dragging from Edward's throat. Digging his nails into Oswald's flesh and biting one of his nipples, Edward fucks his hand so hard that it's a struggle to maintain a steady rhythm, before he finally tears himself away with a growl. 

"It's not enough," he grunts, and suddenly Oswald finds himself being manhandled onto his stomach with a shocking show of strength. The concrete is cold against his chest and belly, sending a shiver through his body, and his stomach drops with trepidation as he realises what is likely to come. He turns his head to look over his shoulder; Edward has one hand pressed into the middle of his back, holding him in place, and he's sucking two fingers of his other hand into his mouth. 

"Edward," he tries, but Edward isn't listening, his focus single-minded on Oswald's ass as he drops his fingers too soon to probe at his entrance. 

How is it possible that this is what Oswald has imagined so many times, and yet so terribly different at the same time? 

He bites back a whine when one finger pushes in. It's tight and uncomfortable, and Edward isn't at all gentle. He barely gives Oswald a minute to get used to the feeling before he shoves a second finger in too, and this time Oswald does whimper, because it hurts. 

It's for Edward, he reminds himself. He can do this for Edward. This is what Edward needs right now. 

The thought doesn't make it hurt any less as Edward thrusts his fingers in and out, the quick coating of saliva doing very little to ease their way. Oswald bites his lip, but can't hold back a cry when a third dry finger is added. 

It's only going to get worse. He knows this. Edward is hardly in a state to be considering his comfort; it's probably a minor miracle that he's being stretched at all, rough and perfunctory as it is. In all his fantasies, the moment right before Edward enters him is full of pleasant anticipation and a desperate need to feel him inside, but right now he dreads it. 

Again, he reminds himself that he's not doing this for the fun of it. 

Edward pulls his fingers out, allowing Oswald a moment to catch his breath and recover. He makes sure to appreciate it because he knows it will be brief **.** He hears Edward spit, presumably into his palm to use in place of the lubricant that would be infinitely preferable, and then the blunt tip of his cock is nudging between his cheeks. 

Oswald tenses. He can't help it, even though his brain tells him to relax in order to minimise the pain. Edward doesn't wait for him. He pushes in, and it hurts  _ so much _ . It's the sensation of being torn open, breached, and the sob that comes out of his throat is accompanied by tears. 

It's nearly impossible to concentrate on the few silver linings. Like that he gets to hear the filthy sounds Edward is making because of him, or that, at least in this moment, Edward actually desires him. The most he can do is try not to scream while Edward fucks him, and pray that the agony of it will at least ease into numbness at some point. 

He rakes his nails against the floor, tears and snot and saliva flowing freely from him. He feels stupid for it, but he's grieving for the affectionate and loving first time that he and Edward can now never share. It was always unlikely to happen, but a part of him always hoped, and now it's impossible. Anything that might ever happen between them will be tainted by this encounter. 

It feels like it goes on forever. Edward pounds him relentlessly, flesh slapping and fingers bruising, and Oswald loses track of time. When, finally, Edward's hips stutter to a halt, Oswald is utterly exhausted and can't bring himself to care about any new injuries he's gained, or about the semen that leaks out of his ass. He lies, boneless, as Edward pulls out and settles beside him, not close enough to touch, panting heavily from his exertion. 

"Oswald… thank you."

He says it so quietly that Oswald isn't sure he heard correctly. He's unconvinced that he can trust any of his senses right now. He's vaguely glad that Edward is no longer so desperately craving release, but mostly he's relieved that it's over. 

Doing this was a terrible idea. 

Edward snores next to him. Apparently, he's worn himself out too. Oswald closes his eyes, and allows his body to rest. 

When he wakes, the pain is like nothing he's ever experienced. It's a great effort to drag himself to his clothes and redress himself. He notices that the door is open, and Edward is gone. Of course he is. 

Whoever brought them both here will pay, there's no doubt about that. But, for the moment, he just hopes that Edward will one day be able to forgive him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry. I wanted it to be happy, but I couldn't make it so with this trope. Sappy smut will resume with the next instalment, I promise.


End file.
